Star Fox: A Broken Road
by Captain Nerdy
Summary: Clythis meets Star Fox in an accident. He must deal with a terrifying threat from his past while struggling to find his faith. Can Fox and Krystal heal his broken soul? Contains violence, grit, suspense, and some sexuality, nothing explicit.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The Great Fox drifted slowly near Corneria, the planet the Star Fox team had come to call home. There had been relative peace throughout the Lylat system for nearly two years. Times had changed. It was almost as if the galaxy breathed a collective sigh of relief and attempted to sustain this period of solace. There had been little foreign conflict, and for that matter, limited planet-localized struggles as well.

The Star Fox team had learned quickly that peace makes mercenary work hard to come by. They had started to suffer from a lack of excitement, not to mention income. Nevertheless, they prepared for any given opportunity to serve through routine maintenance on all equipment, periodic weapons training on Corneria, and daily exercise. This activity, however, had not prevented the spread of cabin fever upon the Great Fox. While the rest of the galaxy seemed to finally relax and lower its guard, tensions on the Great Fox began to grow. Even though Slippy seemed to stay content maintaining the Great Fox, the rest of the team were itching to have some kind of action, even if it was a petty recon or escort mission.

As the docile planet of Corneria rotated slowly and indefinitely, floating peacefully in space, Fox stood at the bridge of the Great Fox, thoughtfully gazing out over the surface of the planet and into the vast expanse of the Lylat system, pondering deeply. _What's next for Star Fox?_ Fox wondered. Fox suddenly had the realization that Star Fox and the Lylat system did not move in parallel. When the system was in crisis, Star Fox felt comfortable in its role as protector; while the system was at peace, Star Fox felt out of place, almost unnecessary. _What can this mean for the team?_ Fox pondered. _Will this cycle of peace and war ever end? What will become of us if it does? What will happen to the Lylat system?_

Fox already knew the answer. The cycle would never end. It was almost as certain as tomorrow following today. There would always be a need for a team like Star Fox, as long as there was evil. Evil must be combated with good, because that was the way things were. Questions were unnecessary for some things. The answer is known, and that is that. The cyclic state of the galaxy seemed to be one of those things. Presently satisfied with his answer, Fox's thoughts soon shifted to his father. _What would he think of me now?_ Fox thought. _Have I proven myself to him? Is he proud of me?_

Try as he might, Fox could not find any absolutes to satisfy his questions. Was it possible that his emotions were clouding his logic, and there were indeed answers that he was seeking? Fox knew that there must be, but a fog descended on his mind when he probed for them. Fox breathed a subconscious sigh of resignation. He could not know the answers yet, at least while his emotions were clouding his thinking. His only choice was to try thinking about these things later, in the hope that understanding will dawn on him. Until then, he could only imagine the answers.

Something caught Fox's eye at the edge of his vision. Turning to look, he saw two small objects flying around in the distance. At first, they seemed to be moving in parallel, but the one in front suddenly moved erratically and the other attempted to copy its movements. It almost looked as if they were jousting. The two objects pulled close enough for Fox, with his years of flying experience, to identify what they were. They were two small fighters, one chasing the other. _Are they fighting?_ thought Fox. _Lylat is at peace! What could they be fighting about?_ Fox sensed his intuition giving way to his logic, and he only doubted himself more.

Several bursts of light sprung forth from the chasing fighter, missing the second fighter and continuing on indefinitely into space. Fox's logic and intuition suddenly concurred. _That ship is attacking the other one! Why? Why isn't the other ship shooting back?_ These thoughts raced through Fox's mind just as Falco stormed onto the bridge.

"What's going on?" the avian inquired. Fox allowed Falco to get closer before responding, "Are you talking about what's going on out there?"

"What else would I be talking about?"

Fox quickly informed Falco of his deduction.

"Well, we can't just sit back and watch this. It looks like that guy's about to bite it. What should we do?"

Fox understood Falco's reply to mean that he was starting to accept, even anticipate Fox's leadership instinct. That fact briefly warmed him. Fox began to formulate a plan, but that decision was soon made for him as ROB announced in his iron, monotonous voice, "Incoming communication link. Source: nearby commercial fighter, identification code A113-1138."

"Accept that link," Fox stated, "and send everyone else up here." ROB complied, and Fox and Falco's attention turned toward the large communications screen at one end of the bridge, which showed the pending progress of the link connection. The link established itself as the rest of the Star Fox team arrived at the bridge. Fox listened intently as Falco quickly explained the situation to everyone else. They remained quiet. They knew enough to let Fox handle, for the most part, outside communications.

The communications link was finally established, and images of a cockpit and a helmeted pilot came into view.

The somewhat panicked pilot spoke with a deep, chiseled voice, "Mayday, mayday! This is fighter A-one-thirteen eleven-thirty-eight attempting contact with Great Fox. Great Fox, do you copy?"

"A-one-thirteen, this is Great Fox. We hear you," replied Fox.

"Great Fox, I'm requesting immediate fighter assistance. My ship's in critical condition and can't hold out much longer." Fox noticed small flames flaring intermittently into view from outside of the pilot's windscreen.

"This guy means business. Great Fox, can you help?"

Fox was about to reply when Falco interrupted him. "Wait a minute, Fox. We don't know anything about this guy. He could be just as bad as the other guy. For all we know, they both could be criminals fighting over money or something. Why should we help him?"

Fox's earlier satisfaction at Falco's submission to him quickly crumbled. Perhaps that was another absolute, that Falco would always question his leadership. Fox sighed, and without turning to him, asked, "Slippy, run a history check on that ship, will ya?"

"Already on it, Fox!" Slippy enthusiastically replied. Slippy was already at the computer, typing away furiously. Fox couldn't help but smirk. That was one quality that Fox loved about Slippy. He seemed to anticipate what Fox or anyone else needed next and would do something to fulfill that need, something his younger self would not have done. Peppy exchanged silent glances with Fox. He had noticed too.

"Great Fox, I recognize your caution, but I can't hold out much longer!" Fox was about to reply, but Slippy suddenly chirped in the results of the history report: "Here it is Fox! Let's see… it's a small cargo ship that was upgraded to have weapon capabilities, and re-registered as a commercial fighter, all done in accordance to law. No reported offenses. No government affiliation. Come to think of it, it's not even a government-produced model. It's commercially sold, privately owned."

"Thanks, Slip," said Fox, "That says he's not military. No time to run a check on the other ship. I say we trust him."

"Fox is right," interjected Krystal, "We have no choice. Our reputation demands it."

"Well, it's the right thing to do, so we're going to do it."

"I hope you know what you're getting into," Falco said in resignation.

"Great Fox, thanks for your help, but this situation's getting hairy. I think my friend here is improving his aim. Hurry!" cried Pilot A-one-thirteen.

"A-one-thirteen, help is on the way," Fox told him. A small cry of jubilation rose from the cockpit. Fox then turned his attention to the rest of the team. "Alright, Falco, do you think you can handle this guy yourself?"

"I've been waiting for some action," was his reply.

"Fox, I had better go with him," pleaded Krystal.

"Krystal, you're right. You go with Falco and help him out." Fox noticed a look of mild disdain from the avian. "Don't give me that look, Falco. You can't be Captain Solo all the time." With that, Falco and Krystal rushed to the hangar bay of the Great Fox, Falco sulking along the way. Fox then ordered Peppy to stay on the bridge and stay in communication with Pilot A-one-thirteen. "I need you to stay here and communicate anything important to Slippy and I, as well as communicate with the pilot. You're good at talking sense into people, when you're not so crabby all the time," Fox told him with a smile. Peppy received the comment as a half-joke and accepted his assignment. "Slippy, I need you to help me guide our flyboy to a possible crash landing in our hangar bay, as well as tend to his ship afterwards. Are you up to it?" Slippy eagerly accepted, and, like an obedient puppy, followed Fox down to the hangar bay.

Falco and Krystal were soon cruising smoothly through space in the direction of the dueling ships. "Krystal, you attack him high, and I'll go low," commanded Falco. Krystal obeyed, opening up their formation. As the Arwings drew near, the attacking fighter detected Krystal through his windscreen and broke off his attack. Krystal chose that moment to fire a few volleys of laser fire at him. As he twisted away, a few bolts hit him, but the other few narrowly missed and headed towards Falco. He easily dodged them, as if he anticipated them. Nevertheless, he shouted through the radio, "Hey, I'm on your side, remember?" Krystal's silence evidenced the effect of his comment. _You just wait, I'm only warming up,_she thought. She deftly twisted and looped her Arwing to intercept the fighter, as Falco approached from the bottom. He spun and fired a charged shot at the fighter. The enemy fighter pulled up into a spiraling loop, yet was unable to outrun the spherical burst of energy. The shot landed squarely into the back of the fighter, sending it into a tailspin as the pilot fought to gain control. Just as he did, Krystal dove in from the rear and fired shot after shot of laser fire. The onslaught only ended when the fighter broke apart, burst into a fireball, and disappeared. The attacker had been destroyed. Falco paused, then said, "Well, what do you know, you're improving!" Krystal, having redeemed herself, at least temporarily, breathed a sigh of relief before replying with a simple, "Thanks Falco."

Meanwhile, as the attacking fighter pulled away, Pilot A-one-thirteen struggled to steer his crippled ship towards the Great Fox. Momentarily, the two Arwings from the Great Fox appeared on either side to escort him there. Falco and Krystal received a message from Fox: "Break formation and wait for clearance to land. He's got priority now, so wait until he's landed and its safe for you to land." Fox then sent a message to Pilot A-one-thirteen: "A-one-thirteen, this is the Great Fox. Is your landing gear and braking system functional?"

"Great Fox, my brakes work, but are damaged, and my landing gear's not deploying."

"Fears confirmed. We will have to walk you through crash-landing procedures. You ever crash land before?"

"I'll try anything once."

"I like your wit. Let's hope you're willing to learn. I don't know where you've flown before, but as you might know, flaps out here in space are useless, so don't bother opening them."

"Roger that, Great Fox. Flaps are closed."

"Alright, I can see you now. Do you see the back of the Great Fox?"

"If I'm staring at a big old engine with blue exhaust?"

"That's the back. You will have to head there and line yourself up with the main engine exhaust, the biggest one, and approach the hangar entrance that way. Do you understand?"

"Head to the biggest engine, line up with it, head towards the hangar entrance. Roger that, Great Fox."

Fox waited for the pilot's confirmation of his position before delivering the next instruction. "Set your throttle down to as low as you can while still going forward. Got that?"

"Throttle down to 10%. Going pretty slow."

"That's what we want. Now, I want you to mentally pick a spot at the front of the hangar on the ground and aim for that spot. You will want to come in as shallow of an angle as possible, as slow as possible, so I suggest you drop altitude."

"Dropping altitude."

"You got a spot picked out?"

"Roger, I hope you're not standing at the end of the hangar."

Fox chuckled slightly to himself before replying, "You can be sure I'm not. I can really see you now. Do you see me?"

The pilot peered through the windscreen. "Is that you, jumping up and down and waving all crazy like that?"

"No, that's Slippy."

"Figures, I see you. What next?"

"I'm going to guide you left and right, but it's up to you to bring in the ship smoothly, got that?"

"Roger."

"And you're paying to repaint the floor."

Fox heard a chuckle at the other end of the transmission.

"Alright, seriously now. When you get near our engine, turn yours off and let your momentum carry you. As soon as you enter the airlock, slam on those brakes."

The small fighter was nearing the hangar bay entrance. Fox coaxed the craft left and right, and the pilot demonstrated decent skill in handling the ship. As the ship came closer into view, Fox was surprised at its condition. It was worse than he thought it would be. Portions of its wings were missing, there were blast marks scattered along its surface, and it seemed that its engine in the rear was missing sizable chunks of it and had caught fire.

Silence fell as the fighter drew very close to the hangar bay entrance. It seemed to deviate from the correct course slightly, but, as if it had finally made a tough decision, straightened itself out and dove towards the entrance. Its entry could not have been more accurate. The ship plowed dead center into the hangar bay and hit the ground just past the airlock. Due to the construction of the ship and its lack of landing gear, it tilted on one side as it slid along the ground, sending coarse sparks flying. The wing on the ground gave way slightly, sending a shudder through both the ship and the hangar bay. Both Star Fox and, it seemed, the Great Fox itself seemed to hold its breath as the ship skidded along the ground. It finally came to rest in the middle of the hangar, engine still aflame.

"Slippy, be ready with that fire extinguisher," Fox commanded. As Slippy busied himself, the cockpit of the ship opened and the pilot, now helmetless, hopped out and landed lightly on his feet.

The badger walked a few paces towards Fox. He was tall and sturdy, and his clothes, obviously meant for utility in favor of style, were heavy and loose, just tight enough to hint at the strong, solid frame beneath. There was a faded scar across the cheek, yet it did not appear intimidating in any respect.

Fox began to walk toward the pilot, but was stopped abruptly in his tracks when an explosion ripped through the hangar. Fox shielded his face from the blast, and he saw the pilot fly through the air toward his left. Knocked senseless, the pilot could do nothing to break his fall. He hit the ground several meters from his ship. Hard. Further dazed, he bumped and slid along the floor on his side, suddenly striking the back of his head on a vertical support column, causing his body to spin. He slid to a stop a few meters from the column, flames licking his back. He lay there motionless as Fox, Slippy, and Peppy, who had just arrived, rushed to his aid.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bright light flooded his vision as the pilot stirred to consciousness. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was glancing momentarily at another bright light as he was flung through the air. The memory brought a slow realization to him. He had been in a starship fight. His ship had been set aflame. The first bright light was the explosion of his ship. He had blacked out. He was injured. The mystery of the second bright light started to dissolve. Was he in some medical bay? Heaven even?

As his mind began to clear, so did his vision. The pilot found himself in a small infirmary, with a few strange pieces of medical equipment attached to him. The infirmary was immaculately clean and looked as if it had never been used. He noticed that he was elevated off the floor by a bed, crisp, fresh sheets tightly tucked, and that he was alone. He stirred, and then attempted to rise. He was surprised to find how weak he felt and how little he could move. His side ached terribly, and he let out a cry from both a splitting pain covering his back and his throbbing head. He collapsed on the bed in defeat, crying out once more.

He wished to know just how debilitated he was. He attempted to move his arms. He could raise both towards the ceiling without much pain, although one was bruised more than the other was. He set his arms down and tried to raise his legs. They both were badly bruised and hurt to move even slightly, but nothing felt broken. He was relieved. He would walk again soon, which meant he would not have to try too hard to get back into shape after recovering. He started to lean from side to side, but immediately sucked in a breath and cried out in pain. One or more ribs on his right side seemed to be broken, and it seemed as if most of his back was blistered or burned. Once again defeated, he collapsed on the bed. Amidst the technology that was healing him, in an infirmary that must have been deep within the recesses of the legendary Great Fox itself, the injured badger had only once before felt so helpless.

"I'm telling you, this is crazy!"

The Star Fox team was gathered not far outside the infirmary where the injured pilot was being cared for, discussing the predicament, where Falco had just let loose his opinion of their response to the pilot's situation. "We don't know anything about him," Falco continued, "he was just some guy in trouble who happened to run into us. Who knows if even that is true? What if he was looking for us?"

"That doesn't explain why he was being attacked," replied Fox, "or why the other pilot didn't even attempt to contact us. If you ask me, his whole story sounds legitimate."

"Well, nobody asked you!"

"Guess why we're standing here talking?"

"It's not to hear you waste your breath!"

Krystal interjected, "Enough! Fighting won't get us anywhere!"

Peppy, carefully choosing his words, coughed a few times, and then stepped forward. "We have two choices. We can refuse to help him, shoving him out of the airlock or letting authorities muddle through this mess while they have more important issues at hand, or we can trust him and find out more about him before we make our final decision."

A thousand objections whirled through Falco's mind, but he chose to hold his tongue. Perhaps, as Peppy often said, he could learn a thing or two if he just kept his beak shut. With that, he accepted defeat and simply listened. Sensing Falco's submission, Peppy gestured to Fox, "What do you think we should do, Fox?"

Fox thought a few moments and paced a bit. "I think we'll overwhelm him if we ask to listen to his entire life's story. I say we let him settle in and recover, and gently coax his story out of him. If we try too hard, too early, he'll just clam up and leave as soon as he can. If we let him tell it as he's ready, we just might make an ally."

"If it's necessary, it's possible for me to read his thoughts and perhaps gain a little perspective if he chooses to remain silent," Krystal offered.

"I'm going to have to ask you not to do that," Peppy interjected. "He's going through enough trouble already without strangers reading his thoughts. We're not interrogating him, for crying out loud."

"I agree," said Slippy. "He should only tell us what he wants to tell us. Right, Fox?"

Fox smirked at Slippy's remark. It seemed that Slippy still retained that childish trait of his, always seeking approval from Fox. "Yes, Slippy. Unless, of course, it looks like he's lying. But let's not assume that, alright?"

The discussion seemed to reach an end. Fox began to turn to leave when the messenger device on his belt chirped. He listened to it briefly before answering, "Thanks ROB," and replacing the messenger. Before Fox could speak, Slippy quickly breathed out, "What did he say, Fox?" Fox smirked again at another childlike trait of Slippy's. There were often times when it seemed that his thoughts could not be contained within him, and burst out in speech at the first possible instant.

It occurred to Fox that Slippy was, in many ways, much like both an adult and a child. He certainly possessed the energy and enthusiasm of a child. How else could he stay up half the night doing repairs, upgrading equipment, or dreaming up inventions? The Star Fox team was grateful for both these traits and that he, fortunately, possessed the attention span of an adult.

Finishing these thoughts, Fox responded, "ROB has been watching our security cameras, and it seems that our pilot has woken up now. Let's go meet him." Fox led the way as the rest of the team followed closely behind, Falco still wearing a mask of slight disdain.

The pilot stared up at the same lights that had blinded him minutes before, now utterly bored and still aching from moving his broken ribs and disturbing his back. He looked around the room again, eager to find anything of interest, anything to keep him occupied as he lay there. Finding nothing except an emergency procedures poster across the room, which he had read and reread until he had nearly memorized it, merely for the sake of doing something, he again stared at the ceiling, sighing as if he were a child confined to his bedroom as punishment. _Being injured can be awfully boring_, he remarked to himself. It was then that he noticed a very small security camera in the corner of the room, cleverly concealed in the design of the wall. _That probably means someone will come and see me soon_, he thought, _if they care at all, that is._ The badger nearly slapped himself in the face, before remembering his wounds. _Of course they care! They're the Star Fox team!_

These thoughts were interrupted as the pilot heard approaching footsteps. The door to the infirmary opened, and the Star Fox team entered, one by one. The pilot chose not to say anything at first. It was an instinct of his to try to learn as much as possible from a person before even speaking to them. He started to examine each member as they entered. Everything that he derived from first impressions alone matched squarely with stories that he heard of the team. _But I can never be too sure,_ he thought. Words to live by.

He found that he had to avert his gaze as Krystal entered the room. It seemed as if she could peer straight through him into his soul, into his past, and the thought chilled him. Not only that, but he could not deny that Krystal was beautiful, and he did not want his mind to get the best of him.

When the team had entered and the door had closed, the pilot attempted to rise a bit, but almost immediately gave up, groaning a bit in the effort. After collapsing onto the bed again, he smiled at the team and reached his hand out as best he could to Fox, who was nearest to him, and shook his hand. He winced a bit when he stretched to meet Fox's hand with his, but Fox quickly moved toward him in order to accommodate him. "I haven't introduced myself. My name is Clythis. Thank you all very much for saving my life. I wouldn't have survived that fight without your help. Thanks for treating my injuries as well. I'm sorry for whatever damage I caused to your hangar, and I'm willing to repay you later."

"That's not necessary, Clythis," Fox responded, "It's just good to know you're alive and okay. We'll get a repair team on Corneria to fix it later. It's nice to meet you, Clythis. I'd like to introduce you to the rest of the team. This is Fal-"

"Introductions aren't necessary, Fox. I've heard a lot about your adventures from my travels. That's Falco, Slippy, Peppy, and Krystal, correct?"

"You're right," Fox replied. He was taken aback a bit at Clythis' refusal of the introductions, but he was also pleasantly surprised at the stranger's recognition of the Star Fox team. He didn't sound like a Cornerian. Was Star Fox that well known?

Clythis paused before adding, "And ROB's around here somewhere, is he?"

"Yes, he's on the bridge right now. You know a lot about us, don't you?"

"Well, it's no secret how you saved Lylat years ago when Andross went psycho. You were immediately famous then as the mercenary group that saved the galaxy. You were known even before all that happened. Remember, your father did some outstanding mercenary work with planets before. Do you live in a hole? How do you not know how famous you are?"

Fox did indeed remember his father and what he had accomplished as the Star Fox team's previous leader. If it weren't for his work and the trust in Star Fox that he instilled in General Pepper, the Star Fox team may never have been asked to confront Andross; it had been that victory that had ensured them a place in Lylatian history.

"We do know about our fame, but we try not to let it get to our heads. So, where did you hear from us?"

It was a direct prompt for his story, and everyone in the room knew it. Krystal leaned forward to correct Fox for his fervor, but stopped herself as she noticed Clythis stirring a bit, as if preparing to answer. "I heard about you from traveling; sometimes I'd get lucky at a refueling stop and hear a snippet or two about you all. Eventually, I was interested enough where I began to ask around for anyone who knew a thing or two about you. And I was impressed with what I heard. You're a really accomplished group, you know that?"

Fox and Peppy exchanged glances. They both knew that Clythis had danced around the answer, but had really avoided half of the question. Perhaps Fox had been too eager, too soon. Fox subconsciously submitted to Peppy, and Peppy stepped forward a bit. "We all thank you for your kind remarks, but it's not necessary."

"Please," replied Clythis. "I owe all of you my life. It's the least I can do. Again, thank you all for your hospitality."

"Well," started Krystal, "Let us know if you need anything. We'd be happy to serve you."

Krystal noticed a subconscious scoff coming from Falco. It was obvious he did not want to serve someone else, to any degree. She just hoped Clythis had not noticed him.

"I'll let you know. Thank you again." With that, the conversation ended and the team filed out of the room, leaving Clythis alone with his thoughts.

_I can't tell them about myself, not now at least. But I can't lie either. Until I trust one of them enough, no one's going to hear much about me. I feel like I need to tell someone, though._

He did need to tell someone. He hadn't told anyone for years. Now it seemed his past rotted him within like a plague. There were still the restless nights that made him awake bolt upright in the middle of the night. It was times like those when he wished for at least one true friend, one whom he could confide in and share what happened. But in his line of work…

Nightfall came, or would have had he been on a planet, and Clythis descended into a fitful, restless sleep, afflicted by both his injured body and soul.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Clythis was walking again.

It had taken two and a half weeks of bedridden recovery, but he was walking. His blistered and burned back was sore and very painful, but healing, and his ribs were mending with the help of both bone-growth supplements that quickened recovery, and a cast that held them in place. The healing progress of both his back and side allowed him to get himself out of bed and walking without too much trouble. He still could not bend much in any direction, but he was able to hobble around the ship in a feeble attempt at a cardio workout. _That will be the hardest part_, Clythis decided, _getting back in shape_. His head injury had been enough to knock him out, but not enough to cause lasting damage, and it had since healed.

Krystal entered the infirmary where Clythis was resting. "Aaggh, noon already?" he said.

"Yes," she replied. "It's time for your regimen."

"Let's get it over with," replied Clythis, with only a hint of humor in his voice. He hated his treatments. They consisted of a shot of bone-growth supplement followed by a medicinal, gel-like substance used to treat his burned back. Clythis expected it to soothe and cool the burn. Instead, it stung and irritated the skin, as if it knew how to prolong his suffering. At the least, it sped up recovery.

Clythis removed his shirt, exposing solid, toned muscles, as well as a smattering of long-healed scars. He gingerly removed the soft cast that held his healing ribs in place and laid carefully on his stomach. The fur on his back, which had mostly burned off due to the explosion, had begun to grow back. The sensations of the hairs pushing through his blistered skin intensified the pain, but he knew that as his back would scab and callous, his pain would eventually subside.

Krystal had finished preparing the syringe. She inspected it briefly, and walked over to Clythis' side.

"Ready?" Krystal asked. Clythis merely turned his head away and groaned. It didn't matter what he said; he would get the shot anyway. He grimaced, but remained silent when the needle slipped in. Fortunately, it missed bone. The needle slid across and scraped one of the broken ribs on its way out, making him draw in a breath roughly and suddenly. Krystal quickly apologized. Clythis denied a bandage, and she slid away to the counter at the other side of the room to prepare the topical treatment, giving him some time to think and prepare.

Krystal had been the only one to care for his physical needs. Sure, Fox, Peppy, Slippy, and even Falco popped in occasionally for a short chat and to ask if he needed anything. They were certainly friendly. Still, Krystal went so far as to treat his injuries, without being asked. Clythis had been considering if she had an ulterior motive beneath her deeds.

_No_, he decided. _She's not like that._ It had been an instinctive reaction of his to assume hidden motives in others, but his judgment seemed to be misplaced in this situation. Yet unsatisfied with his conclusion, Clythis decided to take a chance and ask Krystal directly.

As she prepared the treatment, Clythis raised himself up a bit by his arms. "Krystal?" he asked. "I was wondering… why do you care for me like this when the others don't?"

Krystal, without turning to face him, pondered a bit before answering, "Well, everyone on Star Fox is… unique. Fox, for instance, is a natural leader. He can make plans and decisions on the fly, and you could certainly place bets on his intuition. You remember how we saved you. That was all Fox's plan. Falco, on the other hand - he's very skilled, but lacks judgment at times and… well… he isolates himself occasionally, as if he wasn't part of Star Fox."

"Why does he stay?"

"I won't answer for him, but if I had to guess, it's either because of the skills he has that he can't really use elsewhere, or he's happy with the pay."

"Lylat's been at peace for a year. No offense, but the pay for mercenaries can't be that great if there's no one to fight."

Krystal had now turned to face him. "You see, since we have close ties with Corneria, we receive a regular payment from them. Officially, it's a 'post-war salary', but I think it's either out of their gratitude or simply to keep us around. It's not much, but it's enough for most of the supplies and other needs we have around here. They take the Great Fox in for repairs every now and again, free of charge. So yes, the pay isn't great, but we make a living.

"As I was saying earlier, Falco is very different from Fox, but they're still good friends."

"I couldn't tell from the way they keep butting heads all the time."

Krystal resumed work on the treatment. "There are times, as in any friendship, when conflicts arise. But believe me; most of their fights are simply little squabbles here and there."

"I see. Were you going to talk about Slippy and Peppy too?"

Krystal recognized the prompt to continue. "Yes. Slippy is an absolute whiz at anything technological. He may not have built this ship, but pretty much everything in it has been designed or improved by him."

Clythis looked around and let out a low whistle. "Weapons, too?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Krystal paused, looked up and turned his way. "Why do you ask?"

Clythis paused before answering, "I kept a very special, custom-made rifle and pistol in a storage compartment on my ship. It's probably destroyed by now. If Slippy is as good as he sounds, perhaps he can make them again."

"He should be able to. It's a shame you lost them; I know how you feel. Did I tell you about the time I lost my staff? Or have you heard about that from wherever you heard about us?"

Clythis cocked his head. "As a matter of fact, I haven't heard about that. I knew Fox got it somehow before he rescued you. Tell me more."

Krystal stopped her work and faced him. "As you probably know, I received a distress call from Sauria. I knew a Cloudrunner there, and he helped take me to the Krazoa Palace. You recall?"

"Yes. You were attacked, right?"

"Correct. By General Scales himself. I was nearly killed, had it not been for my friend. As we were escaping, he started firing on us from his gunship. I dropped my staff, and Fox found it shortly after."

"This staff was special to you?"

"Very much, and it still is. It's near unbreakable and is very useful for many magical things."

"Such as fire, ice, ground quakes, things like that?"

"Exactly, as you've so obviously heard before. What made your weapons special?"

"Are you saying your staff is better than the weapons I have?"

"Are you avoiding the question?"

"Are you?" They both laughed.

Clythis shifted his weight and continued, "Anyway, both the rifle and pistol were extremely accurate and very powerful. The rifle needed ammunition, unlike self-energizing blasters, but would intelligently take nearly any blaster ammo and convert it to the right power output for each of its three firing modes. This meant I never really ran out of ammo. I could just pick up anything and use it. It was most powerful as a sniper rifle, less powerful as a rifle, and least powerful as a machine gun. Additionally, the rifle behaved differently with each firing mode. So as a sniper rifle, I had to pull the bolt back after every shot, the rifle I could shoot as fast as I could pull the trigger, and the machine gun was fully automatic.

"Kind of like your staff, it was adaptable depending on the need. I could go right from sniping to firing a machine gun. It didn't skimp on either accuracy or power, besides what firing mode you were in. It was amazing."

"And the pistol?"

"It was also very adaptable. It accepted a large amount of interchangeable cartridges, which would modify what it shot. For example, it could accept attachments that would allow it to fire grenades, more powerful shots, nets, different types of blaster shots, and there was even an attachment to allow fully automatic fire, with reduced power, of course. It was incredible. Very accurate, too. Small enough for concealed carry. It had a bit of stiff recoil, but..."

Clythis saw that Krystal was giggling to herself. "What's so funny?"

Krystal recovered. "It's just that you're talking about things that are so… foreign to me. I'm used to magic and using my staff and you're talking about things like attachments and firepower."

Krystal's tone suddenly turned suspicious. "What on Cerinia would you need a rifle and pistol like that for?"

Clythis sensed her apprehension. "Trust me; I did nothing illegal with them. It was… just in my line of work. What did you use your staff for?"

Krystal waved him off. "I'm sure you've heard from your 'sources'. If you didn't, I did nothing illegal with it. It was just in my line of work." Krystal smiled at him. Clythis smiled back, almost without thinking. "We got off track here. I'm sorry, I get kind of nerdy when I talk about those weapons. You were talking about Slippy?"

"Yes. Where was I? ...Yes, as much of a genius Slippy is, he is much like a child in when it comes to his personality."

"I've sensed that from when I've spoken with him."

"Nevertheless, he has a good heart that you can rely on."

Clythis' arms had gotten tired, and he collapsed on the bed to rest them. "Have you finished preparing that torture they call medicine yet?"

Krystal retrieved a small jar filled with a light brown, translucent gel. "Of course I have. I finished a while ago. I just like talking with you."

Clythis appreciated the compliment. "Thank you. The same goes for you. Hearing you speak is… relaxing. Helps the pain a bit." True, he was captivated by her voice. It was pure and clear, almost never interrupted by a cough or a misspeaking.

"If only this stuff was as relaxing," said Krystal, with a bit of a tease in her voice. She approached his bed. Clythis faced the wall toward the headboard, his head resting on his folded arms. She uncapped the jar and began to massage the gel into his back. He bit his arm in order to prevent himself from yelling from the irritating, intense pain. When Krystal paused to retrieve more gel from the jar, Clythis strained out between ragged breaths, "This should heal me, not hurt me."

Krystal replied with the attitude of a mother removing a splinter from a testy, cantankerous child. "This is healing you and you know it. I told you before where it's from; my mother found the recipe and used it on burn victims during the war against the Balmorrans."

Clythis took advantage of the lull in the action. "You didn't really answer my question earlier. Why do you treat my injuries when no one else does?"

Krystal had slathered some more of the gel on her hands and began to massage it in, causing Clythis to bite his arm again. "Peppy is the strategist and planner for the team, and is usually too siff and cranky to smear gel on someone's back."

"What about you?" Clythis asked through his arm.

"I've had experience treating sick and wounded, again during the war, and I guess that may be a gift of mine."

_Compassion. If anyone here has it, she does_, thought Clythis. However, her answer seemed short and somewhat evasive. "Anything else?"

Krystal paused before answering, "Well, you're not only a wonderful guest around here; you also seem like a very interesting person with quite a story to tell."

_She hit the mark_, Clythis thought. Did she know that she did? He chose to respond with silence. He wouldn't press the matter any further.

Krystal accepted the silence and continued administering the gel. Clythis, meanwhile, was lost in his thoughts. A bareback massage given by the beautiful Krystal, no matter how painful, was at least a bit sensuous. He tried not to think about it. Instead, he thought about Krystal's final question. _How much does she know? Is she simply being nice? Or is she trying to learn all she can about me?_

His thoughts then shifted to the events that had brought him to the Great Fox. _How could it have been orchestrated so well?_ He thought. _What should I tell them about me when it's time?_

The painful massage eventually ended. After he thanked her, Krystal bid a short farewell and left, leaving Clythis alone in the infirmary.

Clythis peered at his bitten arm. He had drawn a bit of blood. _Be more careful next time_, he told himself as he wiped his arm clean with a tissue. _Loneliness_, he pondered. He had been alone before, many times. _Why is it really bothering me now?_ _What does Krystal have to do with this? I don't know what I should be thinking about her, or even what I do think about her. Should I back off? If I'm right, she's spent a lot more time with Fox. What does he think about her? Do they - are they going to - why am I even thinking about this? It's because... I can't be alone anymore. It's because of what happened… I need someone. But is it Krystal? What does she even see in me? I'm just a pleasant-sounding guy who hurt himself while making a mess in their hangar. Is she even interested? Maybe friendships are the way to go. But who should I tell this to? What would they think of me?_

The questions plagued him. No, not questions. The question. _What do people think of me?_ Loneliness had never truly bothered him before, but ever since he set foot in the Great Fox and glimpsed the Star Fox team, the questions had attacked him and brought up the troubles and doubt of his past. Once again, he was alone, with no one to consult with as he spoke his mind. Alone, with the weight of his past pressing down upon him, with his confused thoughts about Krystal and the rest of Star Fox, with looming decisions before him. All of this surrounded him, yet he was alone. Once again, he felt as helpless as he had so long ago. Clythis breathed a quick prayer before grabbing a small book from a nearby nightstand and began reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Clythis stopped his work to wipe the sweat from his brow. _Krystal was right,_ he thought. His back had healed quickly. Scabbed and calloused, it still hurt, but significantly less than when the injury was fresh. His ribs had patched up as well. And best of all, his medication had been reduced to just a few painkillers daily, granting him relief from the agonizing massages given to him.

The small exercise facility aboard the Great Fox was where he spent a good portion of his daily time. Ever since he had been able, he exercised persistently to the point where he was now running nearly 10 kilometers daily, along with pushups, curlups, stretches, and weight training, in order to restore his physical condition to the prime it was before the crash.

Clythis returned to the quarters lent to him by Star Fox, where he shed his clothes and took a long, hot shower, grateful that it no longer scalded his afflicted back. As he stepped out of the shower, he glanced into the mirror, and attempted to tame his hair. _Time for a haircut, _he remarked to himself. _I hate long hair. _He donned his watch, slipped a ring on his index finger, and wore his necklace, a dog tag and cross strung on it, underneath his shirt. Soon he was in a fresh pair of clothes, and he made his way to the Great Fox's dining area. He helped himself to a glass of a weak drink and eased himself into a comfortable chair. He breathed deeply, then laid his head back, staring through the ceiling.

His thoughts plagued him yet again. Of that short time in his life where he had lost everything. His life had had no meaning, no reason to continue. _Things are different now,_ he thought to himself. Still, the pain remained, continuously running him down. _No matter what I do, it's still after me. A lot like…_

Fox walked briskly past the open door, then backtracked into the room after noticing Clythis. "There you are," Fox said, "How are you feeling?"

Clythis eased out of his chair and shook Fox's hand. "I've seen worse," he replied with a grin. The smile wasn't forced. He truly was glad to see Fox. The pair's friendship had developed since the crash, and each was glad to see the other.

Fox returned the smile. "How's your back? I've heard you're working out now."

Clythis stretched. "It hurts a bit, but nothing too bad. And yes, I am working out. You saw me?"

"Yeah. Were those army workouts you were doing?"

Clythis smiled and spread out his hands. "Guilty. Yeah, I've served some time."

"Really? What was that like for you?"

"You want the long or the short of it?"

Fox reached over and poured himself a glass of Clythis' drink. "I've got some time. It gets boring around here when there's no work to do." Fox peered at the bottle's label. "We have stronger stuff than this, you know."

Clythis sighed, the smile disappearing from his face. "It doesn't satisfy me anymore," was all he offered.

Both of them sat down. "Well, here's how it started," Clythis began, "I enlisted at the minimum age, 18. I was placed in –

Fox leaned forward. "Wait, slow down. What army were you in?"

"Cornasa's. You've heard of it?"

Fox shook his head. "No."

Clythis shrugged. "I didn't think so. It's outside the Lylat system. Anyway, after my parents died, I-

Fox shifted position. "Your parents died? I'm sorry that happened to you," he said compassionately.

Clythis waved him off. "Thanks, but it's okay. I've gotten over it now."

He leaned forward. "Wait, didn't your parents die too?"

Fox sighed. "Yeah. My mom when I was little, and my dad when I was still in the Academy. I'm sure you've heard about that."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you at least still had your dad for a while. Mine died at the same time."

A silence filled the air, broken by Clythis clearing his throat. "Well, after my parents died, I lived by myself on the streets for a few years before joining the army at 18. I was placed in the infantry. Soon, some separatists joined forces to try to form a new government, and war broke out. On my first deployment, we were sent to reinforce the front line…

* * *

10 years earlier…

Clythis slapped a mosquito that had settled on his neck. The transport he was riding in glided slowly along a wide path that snaked its way through a thick forest. He sat surrounded by fellow soldiers he barely knew, most of them with a bored expression on their face. Clythis sympathized with them. Being transported to serve as potential reinforcements at the front was not glamorous. They likely wouldn't fight much anyway. Their commanding officer definitely would not.

Clythis craned his neck to peer at the transport ahead of his that held their CO, Captain Rivera. Not one man in his company wanted to follow him into combat. He wasn't a bad leader because he made bad decisions. He was a bad leader because he made no decisions. The load of each operation was placed upon the platoon leaders, who were left to coordinate any given operation among themselves, while the captain usually gave just a nod of approval, and little else. Strangely, and most frustrating to the soldiers, it seemed Rivera was lauded for every success of the company while the platoon leaders were largely blamed for any failures.

Clythis just shook his head in disbelief. Something had to give soon. Either Rivera's errors would be exposed and he would be disgraced, or he would be promoted, settling at a higher rank and causing more disarray.

There was the third option, however, for which Clythis was grateful. Was it too much to hope that Rivera would be killed in combat? Clythis dismissed the thought. It _was_ too much to hope for. However, Rivera was one of the highest-ranking officers still serving regularly in the field. Was someone higher up in the chain of command hoping for a tragedy as well? Too good to be true.

Clythis slipped his necklace off and toyed with it in his hand. It had served a special, new purpose since he had joined the army, and he didn't want to imagine his time served without it. He put his hand through the loop, twisted the loop, and slipped his hand in again. He repeated that again to ensure it would not fall off. This left the pendant hanging a short distance from his wrist. He usually wore the necklace the normal way, but sometimes put it on his alternate way for no real reason at all, except that he was bored.

The convoy, formed by several troop transports, as well as supply shuttles and escorts, entered a clearing. It was shaped like a bowl, depressed so low that those at its center could not be seen from a kilometer away in any direction. It was spread wide enough, however, that the average grade was not very steep, making for a smooth descent from the convoy's previous path.

Clythis was nearing the center of the clearing when the transport ahead of his suddenly exploded with a deafening outburst. Flaming soldiers were sent soaring gracefully through the air, screaming. A tremor ran through Clythis. Training had never prepared them for this. He quickly rose to his feet to disembark the transport as someone shouted, "Ambush! Move! Move!"

He swung his legs over the edge of the transport and leaped from it, but he was too late. Somewhere close by, a rocket fired; Clythis was thrown through the air as his transport exploded in a ball of flames. Somehow he had enough sense to roll as he landed, cushioning the impact of his fall. His senses were blurred as he attempted to stagger to his feet. Flames danced at the edge of his vision as the blurred images of panicked soldiers streamed past him. All he heard was a dull vibrating sound, as if he was underwater, and the fuzzy screams and shouts of his comrades.

Clythis staggered on all fours to a nearby, freshly made crater and rolled himself in. He lay on his back, staring at the sky, trying to recover, his breathing heavy. The peaceful, puffed clouds in his vision stood witness to the guttural screams and yelling of both comrades and enemies alike that penetrated his recovering hearing. Soon, Clythis started to pick up the sounds of battle. Explosions. Laser fire. The whistle of soaring rockets and the distant thuds of artillery. More shouted orders and the screams and moans of the dying. Chaos hung in the air so thick it seemed to penetrate the very soul.

This was war.

Clythis blinked hard a few times. His hearing had restored itself except for a persistent, high-pitched ringing, and his vision had cleared. His breathing was no longer heavy, but labored with nervous tension. Clythis staggered to his knees, then laid in the crater on his belly, facing the enemy. He reached for his weapon. It wasn't there. He hurriedly looked around him. It wasn't anywhere near him. _I dropped it_, thought Clythis. He swore, then staggered around feebly, eyes searching for any available weapon. He finally spotted one. A dead soldier nearby was splayed along the ground, his teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut in a grotesque death mask. He cradled a sniper rifle.

Clythis crawled low on the ground towards the corpse. He stared at the dead man. He was young – perhaps even Clythis' age. It was near impossible for him to comprehend that a man so young could die so suddenly. It had once seemed to Clythis and his fellow soldiers that they were invincible. The glory and honor of serving their country dispelled any misgivings they had about harm befalling them. In an instant, truth had shattered their misconceptions. That was the reality of war. Death, it seemed, was blind, taking any who managed to fall into its grasp. Clythis himself seemed to narrowly dodge Death's grip. What did this mean? Was he somehow protected? Clythis didn't want to find out. He would simply fight, as soldiers were meant to do.

Sniper rifle in hand, Clythis crawled using his elbows and knees a short distance to the top of a ridge that looked up at what appeared to be the main scene of the ongoing battle. He scanned the landscape. The enemy was attacking from cleverly concealed locations that offered some cover as well, while friendly forces made do with whatever they had, from standing behind trees to using destroyed transports as cover. Some, Clythis noted, had found no cover at all, and simply laid down on the ground in the open, hoping that their low profile would save them.

Clythis loaded the rifle with ammo he had appropriated from the corpse and aimed down the scope. He watched carefully for exposed enemies. He finally saw one. He was an evil-looking monkey, a bit short for an enlisted soldier, and slightly overweight. He was protected by a short mound of turf, but Clythis had a clear shot. He centered the crosshairs on the enemy's chest, exhaled, and slowly squeezed the trigger as he was taught. The recoil was stronger than the rifle he was used to, and the noise was much louder as well. Clythis recovered from the recoil, repositioned his crosshairs and checked the results of his shot. His shot had gone wide left, and unfortunately, the enemy had noticed that he had been shot at. He looked wildly around, trying to find the source of the shot that had nearly claimed him, chattering in his foreign tongue as he went. Clythis, meanwhile, adjusted his sights to the left and took aim again. He was surprised at the weapon's zoom capability. He could clearly make out the enemy's facial expressions, though he was over 300 yards away. The monkey was bewildered, panicked, and angry, and seemed to be shouting something to his comrades. Clythis breathed a quick prayer, exhaled slowly again, and began squeezing the trigger. It was then that the enemy spotted him. His expression changed from pure anger to sheer shock and surprise when he realized that the very same force that nearly took his life was taking aim again. The shot sounded, and Clythis maintained his target in his sights. The conic metal slug fired from the weapon, enveloped in ion-charged, bright blue plasma, ripped into the enemy's neck, spinning him in a half-circle. His hands went to his throat as he collapsed in a heap, his windpipe vaporized and spinal cord destroyed. He couldn't believe it. He had just taken a life, his first kill. He was bewildered, but, as he was trained, he reserved such thoughts for later, after combat. What only mattered was what he was going to do next. Clythis crawled along the ridge towards some more foliage and took aim once more at the unsuspecting enemy.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Clythis sat on the ground, laid his helmet down, and exhaled in victorious exhaustion. Soldiers ran past him, cheering, shouting, and firing weapons into the air in celebratory outburst. The ambush had been repelled. They had stood their ground. They had proven themselves. They had won.

Clythis was amazed, relieved, and perplexed all at once. Why had he lived? As he reflected, he did not know that he would be asking himself that question again and again. For now, they had won, and that was all that mattered.

He raised himself up on his feet and strolled back hundreds of yards away to the sight of his original kill. He stared down into the face of the fallen soldier. The corpse's eyes were frozen open, as well as his mouth. It looked as if he had died screaming, or at least trying to scream. Clythis was struck by how young the man looked. He could not have been older than Clythis; in fact, he may have been younger. Once again, Death proved to be blind. _But _I_ wasn't_, thought Clythis. _Did Death use me? Or did I use death?_

"That your kill?" Clythis was a bit startled by the gruff voice behind him, and he turned to see a mature-looking bulldog staring down at the same corpse.

"Uh… y- yes, sarge" Clythis stammered out. The sergeant growled quietly to himself. He noticed Clythis' sniper rifle, then asked him, "How far away were you?"

Clythis pointed out the ridge from which he had killed his quarry. The sergeant nodded slowly and let out a slow whistle. "Long distance, nice. You're a good shot. Let me see-"he said as he grabbed Clythis' lapel and scanned it quickly. "No marksman's badge. You're just a support gunner, and you popped a guy from that far away?"

"Well, I missed the first shot, sarge," Clythis said.

"Doesn't matter to me. If you picked up a rifle from somebody, the scope probably got knocked around a bit. So, with a messed up scope and two shots you got him?"

"Yes, sarge." Clythis couldn't see the point of his questions. The sergeant looked down and toed the body. "Absolutely fascinating. Why aren't you a sniper?"

"Well, sarge, I did well on my marksmanship tests, but Captain Rivera-"

"Oh, you don't wanna hear about Rivera," the sergeant interrupted. "Or, between you and me, maybe you do. We found his body in his transport. He was trapped in the driver's cab, roasted alive when the transport went up in flames. Sorry. Or not."

Clythis found himself a bit surprised at the news. Had Death peeked out from under the blindfold? He hoped so. "Anyways, you were saying? Something about Rivera?"

Clythis composed himself. "Uh, yes. I did well on my marksmanship tests, but the Captain wouldn't let me become a sniper."

The sergeant spat something unsightly from his mouth. "Why not? You would be a sniper in my platoon."

Clythis shrugged. "I really don't know. Could be that he didn't like them in the first place. Not as glorious as a charging force of foot soldiers, maybe. Could be that I was too young to impress him. Whatever it was, I felt like I belonged there, and he wouldn't let me in."

The sergeant sighed before asking, "What platoon you in?"

"Hawk's platoon, Alpha Company," replied Clythis.

"Aaahhh, more bad news. For real this time. If sources are right, you're one of maybe three survivors from that unit."

That news chilled Clythis. His unit had numbered nearly forty. "Sergeant Hawk's gone?"

The sergeant merely nodded, a somber look on his face. Clythis looked down and dragged his foot on the ground. "So, Rivera and Hawk's gone, and so is most of my unit. Who's taking command, then?"

The sergeant smiled. "Luckily for you, I am. Sergeant Davis, at your service," he said as he shook hands with Clythis. "Let's get going, Private. We're expected at the rally point. You can stock up on ammo and supplies there. Should be able to get food, too."

"You mean those energy bars they pass out? They taste like cardboard."

"You got to ignore their taste. Once you get used to them, the flavor comes out a bit."

"What flavor? You mean Corrugated Chocolate?"

Davis chuckled to himself. "I'm gonna like having you in my platoon," he said as he slapped Clythis' shoulder, a manly gesture. "Nice bracelet," Davis said as he walked away. Clythis noticed that he still wore his necklace on his wrist. He clutched the pendant in his hand, the memories surging through his mind again. He slipped it off his hand and onto his neck again. Tears began to well up as he was reminded again of the mysteries of death. _Why did it have to happen to me? Everything was fine that day. And then…_ He stared at the soldier sprawled on the ground. _Then again, why did he have to die? He didn't deserve it, did he? _ Clythis sighed. "God, I don't know why, but you've given me one more day," he whispered. "Thanks." He gave one last glance at the body, turned around, and trotted up to Davis.

***

_Present day…_

Fox refilled his glass. "So, after that, what happened?"

Clythis leaned back in his chair. "We ended up winning the war, but that doesn't really matter. I was a sniper in Davis' platoon, and ended up impressing the brass with my service record. So much so that I was handpicked for the Special Forces. Davis helped me get that position, bless him. We trained hard. Extremely hard. But we didn't end up doing much of anything, except training exercises and full-gear marches. Sure, we had a few missions, but I could see that it wasn't going anywhere, as long as there wasn't any war going on. So I resigned and returned to where I grew up, this time as a hero rather than an orphan on the street."

"Did you have a job when you returned?"

"I jockeyed cargo ships for a living. That's where I learned how to modify my own ship, as you probably saw when you scraped the wreck of it off the hangar. After a year of shuttling cargo around, I had enough money to find a home, settle down, and start a family."

"You had a family? Where are they now?"

"Well, actually –

Slippy stumbled into the room. "Fox! Where have you been? Is your comm off?"

Fox slipped his hand into his jacket and retrieved his communication device. "Ah, shoot. I left it off. What's going on, Slip?"

Slippy recovered some of his breath. "There's an important message for Star Fox on the bridge. It's coming from –" It was then that he noticed Clythis. "…someone important."

"Alright," Fox said. He set down his glass and got up to follow Slippy.

"This sounds urgent; do you still want me to stay here?" Clythis asked.

Fox turned and said, "We might be able to use your help. Sure, follow me."

Clythis left his half-empty glass on the side table, got up and followed Fox and Slippy as they hurried to the Great Fox's bridge.


End file.
